Something else
by kawaii-kakashi
Summary: He doesn't love her, no. He has decided not to. A Gino-centric fic. GinAka.


Pairings: GinAka. KougAka.

Soo... I rewatched season one. I really like Gino and Akane's interactions. _I like them a lot._ Hence this fic. Mostly moments from canon but I did take some liberties with the material.

All from Gino's point of view.

* * *

><p>The rain bit down on the stagnant ground and the clueless spectators. He ignored them, had nothing but harsh words for their willingness to watch the train wreck that all latent criminals became. He checked his watch for the third time.<p>

"Excuse me! Are you inspector Ginoza?" He turned around. "That's me. What bad luck you have for getting an incident as your first case." The_ incidents_ rarely ended well. She put her hand up in a salute, her expression less apologetic and more serious. "I'm Akane Tsunemori. I've been appointed to CID as of today." He knew who she was, of course, having read her file before it had even landed on his desk. At the top of her class, ambitious, easygoing and well-liked and so on and so forth. "Sorry but we're short on manpower. I can't treat you like a newbie." Her face fell. He felt like sneering. What had she expected?

He gave her a quick run down and as he tossed her a jacket he heard the rumble of the enforcer's truck approaching. Her eyes grew wider. He wondered what she'd learned about them at the Academy.

"...they'll be your subordinates," he finished. It took roughly ten seconds for Kagari to connect the dots between "There's a new inspector coming" and the shaky newcomer by Ginoza's side. She looked like a nocturnal animals, caught in the cross hair of a rushing car.

Twenty minutes later he learned that Masaoka was too kind, and that Kougami turned his back on her. Gino's team circled around, heard Tsunemori and Kou's voices echo through the corrugated metal, like taking a bearing of the sea. Kougami held the woman at gunpoint when the dominator whirred. Upgrading. She was lost. A shot was fired, a body staggered over. Somehow the soundscape had been off, lacking of malice and fluidity. Kougami was down, Akane on her knees. The inspector stared blankly in front of her. As if the entire previous tirade of fallacy within a single human hadn't been enough, Ginoza saw his father standing close and unharmed. He hadn't tried to stop them.

When the woman dropped the lighter, Gino could have sworn he saw a look of relief on the young inspector's face.

* * *

><p>"She's something else," his father muttered whilst shoving his hands in the pockets of his thick coat, shaving off a decade of age by one simple youthful gesture. The man with the burly voice and grounded presence looked after the woman. Gino did the same, peering after her silhouette in the muted echoes of the night.<p>

* * *

><p>"Nobuchika," the man offered, restraint apparent in his voice. "Don't be too hard on her. What Kou said makes sense. And she is smart. She can take care-"<p>

Gino turned around, his expression flippant and once again he hated his dad, his father, "Yeah, _smart._ Which is exactly why she should know better." He closed the door abruptly on his way out, but as he stalked along the corridor he made sure to gather his composure.

He was Ginoza, he was an Inspector, he should act with a cool head.

As he approached their office, he saw her lithe body balancing behind Shinya's chair, looking at something on the screen that the dark-haired man was pointing out. Gino felt a dozen raw, hot coils start churning in his stomach and he was angry yet again. He walked past them with no sign of recognition but a short nod of his head. Akane straightened up, nodded, said something to Kougami then went back to her desk. Behind his screen, Gino clicked up the first file he saw and started scrolling without knowing what to look for.

His name was Ginoza. He was an inspector.

He, more than anyone, should know better.

* * *

><p>"Gino-san," she breathed, her voice hoarse and coddled. It sounded like she'd been running. "I mean, um, Ginoza-san."<p>

"We need you to come in earlier today. There's a meeting in forty minutes."

She hurriedly agreed. He hung up.

He looked for Kougami in the office, purely out of spite, even though he knew he wouldn't be there. He ordered Kagari to call Kou instead.

* * *

><p>He was mildly resistant when the tenders came to pick him up. He said no to all their questions and cheerful baits of "There's someone here to see you". They insisted and he knew of nothing more degrading than fighting in the little box, so eventually he followed them out the door. Or rather, agreed to be escorted.<p>

He had been in the newcomer ward for days, getting used to neither having a father nor a left arm. When the door swooshed open he saw a familiar figure behind the safeglass. She smiled as he approached. His head got clouded with memories of other times, lives lived on the other side of the barrier, in freedom and the stability of duty.

She leaned forward slightly, "I apologize for not visiting you sooner." He stared at her. For him his life had been over the moment he got lifted into an ambulance and heard the doors lock from the outside. Simply seeing her again was more than he could wish for.

"I'm not agreeing with their visiting policy," she continued, her voice bearing both pride and a careful edge. Her smile faded, "How are you?"

His crime coefficient was at a wrecking 139. If he passed a Dominator he'd be shot. Ever since Kagari disappeared, life had kept breaking apart into something jarring and painful.

"I'm better. Thank you," he added stiffly. Why was she there? Perhaps she was hoping he could be rehabilitated. The thought felt like a blow to his chest. His arm ached in response; as if berating him for her inability to see that he was_ broken_. Seeing how he wouldn't offer up anything else, she proceeded to tell him about the newcomers and what the firm was doing to fill the adjacent gaps. He had been taken out of his context, his frames, and as he listened to her amiable description, he found that work was all that connected them to each other. True enough, when she was done sharing the news, there was silence.

He asked about Kougami, as it was the only thing she had omitted. She shook her head no, looked down. "He doesn't want to be found."

* * *

><p>He could hardly believe his luck when they brought him to the meeting room again and she was there. He hadn't been playing and yet somehow he'd won the prize. How long had it been since she was there? A week? Two? She pulled the bag over her head, put it on the floor. Inspector Tsunemori straightened up on the nonsensical chair. "How are you?"<p>

He wanted to dismiss her, to tell her that visiting him in there is simply cruel. They both knew he was caught. He was stuck. Inspectors that turned latent criminals were under strict surveillance, simply because of their knowledge of judicial law. And how to avoid it. What protected Sibyl also made it vulnerable. Inspectors.

The one in front of him was one of the best he'd come across. She was there. "I'm good, thank you," he said coolly. The truth would have been unsightly, and he wouldn't offer it up.

She nodded, "I'm glad to hear you're doing better." The careful smile made her look younger. "I don't think they will keep you here much longer."

He sat very still but despite that his pulse grew rapid. He felt hot and cold at the same time, as if he had a fever. "What do you mean?" he croaked and tried, hopelessly, to suppress the wave of hope that threatened to overtake him.

A crease showed up on her forehead, her mouth turning down. "Did you think we would just _leave _you here?" She sounded offended, in some vague definition of the word. He reached up to fix the glasses that weren't there and then quickly put his hand down. "... no, of course not."

* * *

><p>The doors opened with a hum, and the air conditioned smell of office hit him like a cricket bat. He'd forgotten all about the fluorescent lights and the abysmal corridors. He was almost breathless as he reached the main room, but a second later he deflated. No one was there. He went to the computer room instead and in that world, nothing had changed.<p>

"Are they out?" he asked, and approached the long line of displays. The black chair did a twirl and Shion was revealed, a cigarette in her right hand. "They got a call about a fire that turned out to be nothing. They're on their way back." She nudged her chair towards the desk and the ashtray perched atop it, tapped at the cigarette with one of her red-painted nails. "You look well," she continued. He snorted, knowing full well that he looked like something the cat dragged in, terribly sterile and defunct at the same time. What he wanted was to go to his new room and settle in. As if having read his mind she goes, "I'm sure she won't be long."

Shion pointed at the couch. _"Sit."_

* * *

><p>It wasn't there. His arm was <em>gone<em>, so how could it possibly be hurting? He knew of course about the phantom pains that amputees could suffer, but he'd never considered what a hellish ordeal it would be. It started as the shadow of a pressure, barely there, barely distinguishable from the pulsing of his heart to the left in his chest. He knew it wasn't real, that whatever nerv-endings he'd had were gone, had been neatly tucked in when they stitched him up. They had fixed him. There were no reason for him to be feeling like this. He remained still in the bed, curled up, his new arm and hand beside his face. He tried not to breathe too deep, was afraid of the pinch he'd feel when he did. He'd always been strong, agile, versatile. Even as a child fiercely independent and unflinching. As a ten year old, if he'd have known_ this _was where he would end up, he most likely would have chosen another career path (or something much less admirable). He'd always enjoyed helping, salvaging what could be saved. He would have become a good doctor, or an engineer perhaps. He'd always enjoyed working with his hands and still did, he thought, a bit salty.

* * *

><p>Light steps out in the corridor, and knowing them, he halted. He dropped his legs from the curled up position, felt his feet scrape against the rough rubber surface of the floor. His arms were hurting from the pull-ups and his hands were threatening to let go of the slippery metal bar that held him upright. What was she doing there? What business did she have in the physical therapy ward? His trainer, an academic looking guy with glasses, cleared his throat and held on tighter to his clipboard.<p>

"Ginoza-san. Please focus."

* * *

><p>He reached for the dominator with a tired, sloppy movement, as if he didn't want it in his hands. His only joy would come from dropping it, from watching it malfunction and collapsing into minute pieces in the air. But his job was to wield it, to administer its purpose through jolts of degradation by shooting bodies in the night. Sibyl <em>worked<em>. It was a single snare of light, protecting its inhabitants by killing them. The only relief he'd found in his new life was the freedom of having been tainted. No one expected him to be clear and when he wasn't, they didn't care.

He'd heard the rattling click of a gun being raised on him only once after his release. It had been the new inspector, succumbing to the curiosity. He'd pretended like nothing, as if he hadn't felt the jarring sea of clawing uselessness on the back of his head. She could shoot him if she felt like it, if the neurons in her brain decided so. If the synapses contributed to a joint venture, and the trigger was allowing to be pulled. He fought the urge to raise his gun to save himself. Kougami had done it once or twice on him, to check Ginoza's hue. The Dominator had a brain and did not allow further action. If he pointed it towards her, if only to spare his body such a gruesome death, his gun would simply click. The lights would fade, leaving him alone with his failed ideas of life and order.

The new inspector had lowered her gun and gone on her way. Gino remained for a short while. He needed time. His legs needed time for not running when they'd had the chance. He remained in the alley with a sense of dread. He'd been shown the needle and the liquid, the instruments of dying. The next time, in a month or half a year or five, she would shoot.

* * *

><p>Her cries, lamenting prayers for the dead, was pain within him. He tried to contain it, and then, he could not. He fumbled for the door handle and the metal hinges clacked. His steps were cautious, unsure. They were alone in the parking lot. The pink early sky made for a purged backdrop to the rows of empty vehicles. She was standing behind their car, her back and shoulders strung taut. Her gaze was aimed stubbornly downwards. It didn't waiver even as he wrapped his arms around her. She shuddered with one aching intake of air and a quiet, desperate sound, beyond words of grief.<p>

* * *

><p>Nowadays at the crime scenes he insists on going in first, taking the most dangerous flank in every push or break-in or when staging an assault. He knows he's shielding her, knows that the others discuss him over lunch and between beers. Akane doesn't remark upon it, as she has grown used to being with him, and he to her. He's used to her presence, the order of the thoughts of which that she presents to him.<p>

* * *

><p>The days rolled over them like thunderclaps, vacant and obsessive and intruding. The CID building was encased in clouds and morning fog. The days dreaded the fall of night, trying to avoid it at all costs. He slept badly. Akane slept well. It felt as if the mist had encased him too and he was in a waking slumber, defeating every night with the image of her in his bed.<p>

Last night she'd found a trail leading to England. When he'd asked her what Kougami might be doing in London, she was quiet. Her fingers had balanced on the thin windowsill. It had been an image in three colors; her white soft cotton t-shirt, the tidy black and proper skirt, and the grey clouds out the window with such astonishing weight. "If it's him, he wants us to know," she concluded, having followed her thoughts to a preconceived end. It was rare for her to bring it up. To bring him up. It seemed unlikely that he was returning. Gino still felt a lecherous distaste forming in his mouth. It was a fierce desire to protect her, to protect her from things she'd never needed saving from. Things that she perhaps didn't want to be rescued from. Things that she wanted to experience, things that she would welcome despite whatever misfortune that they brought.

Some hours later, as she once again fell asleep, he felt sorry for doubting her, even for a moment. He looked up at the lazily spinning ceiling fans. He issued a warning. _Kougami_, he thought, and he could almost feel his face contorting into a grimace.

_You're not getting her back_.


End file.
